Page 26 of Wild Card
Brett Porter is a handsome guy; he’s successful and charming to those who don’t know him. He could have any girl he wants.
“Stay here with me tonight,” he suggests, placing his hand on my thigh. “I know you're scared, but we can ease into things…I’ll be gentle.” Being scared doesn’t come into it. I’m not afraid to have sex, I just don’t want it with this man.
“You're in no state to be thinking about things like that; you need to rest,” I tell him politely, trying to ignore the bile that rises in my throat when I think about his hands touching me. Once I let that happen, he will be all I’ve ever known, and that terrifies me.
“Ruby, I’m fine. I know I don’t look it right now, but the pain meds are working and the swelling will go down in a few days.”
“Just be patient with me, Brett, please,” I beg him. “I promise once we’re married, things will be different.” It’s a promise I don’t want to make, but one I have to
“Damn right it will be.” He tuts, picking up the remote and turning on the TV.
“I should get back, Earl struggles with locking up by himself," I tell him, assuming he doesn't know that Ash is staying at the bar too. If he did, I can’t imagine he’d let me go back there.
“Whatever pleases you, dear.” He sniggers sarcastically, looking back at the TV. So I stand up and slip back into my shoes, leaving him watching some cop show and wondering what evil has possessed me, when for a split second I wish that I’d let Ash kill him.
My heart stops when my cab pulls up and I see an ambulance outside the bar. The first person I think of is Earl. He’s been getting more and more fragile lately, and I keep telling him to see Dr. Armstrong about his palpitations. Paying the driver, I rush out, calling out Earl's name until I run straight into a huge, solid chest.
“Relax, it ain’t Earl.” I look up and see Ash’s warm, brown eyes looking down at me. His arms have wrapped all the way around me, engulfing me in that scent I smelled on the ride back from the house this afternoon.
I let him hold me for longer than I should, feeling his lips press down on the top of my head while I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I quickly remember that I can’t do this, not to him or myself.
I’ve led this guy on enough already, and although it’s all his own fault for being so damn handsome, I need to take some control.
“Who was it?” I drag myself away, despite how much I need his comfort right now. I wish I could tell him everything so he’d know I’m not crazy.
“Sheriff Underwood’s son. He took some of those pills that have been going around,” he explains, looking genuinely concerned. “I’m glad you're back. I’m gonna need you to lock up the bar while I go deal with something.” He suddenly looks all fired up and mad.
“Not Brett.” I shake my head at him.
“No, not Brett. Not this time, but if you think I’mma just let that go, you're mistaken.” I shouldn’t feel butterflies in my stomach from hearing that; I should feel dread, but no matter how much I try to ignore it, there's a part of me that wants this man to save me.
“Then where are you going?” I grip his arm when he moves to leave.
“Club business, darlin’.” His voice is all low and scratchy.
“Is it dangerous?” I ask him, wanting his arms back around me again.
“You just head on inside and pour these folks out here a drink. The kid had everyone worried.” He swerves my question, and when his hand starts to tug out of mine, I really want to cling to it.
“Be careful,” I tell him.
“Careful, sweetheart, you almost sound like you care about me.” He hits me with that cocky grin of his before dashing off into the night and leaving me even more conflicted than I was before.
THIRTEEN
Ash
Ihalt my bike with a skid outside the grimy, dated-looking motel and march straight into the reception.
“I’m looking for a kid who hangs around here. Got a tattoo of a scorpion on his hand.” I glare harshly at the middle-aged man who’s got his feet up on the desk, eating from a family-sized bag of chips. He’s got the TV on max volume and looks at me begrudgingly as he picks up the remote control and turns it down.
“Sorry, I can’t help you; customer confidentiality and all that.” He shrugs before taking a sip from his beer and getting back to his chips. I ain’t in the mood for this shit tonight, so I reach over the counter, take hold of the string vest he’s wearing under his shirt, and drag him up to meet my eye level.
“You want me to put your face through that TV screen, and that bottle up your ass?” I ask him, watching his eyes bulge outta their sockets as he quickly shakes his head at me.
“The kid, where is he?” I ask him again.
“Room four. I…I’ll getcha a key.”
